/ oh no no no... you don't get a jew artefact at this point, when the play of words comes between the son and the mother... no no no... you're target; she should be a ****, a stripper, a *****... but when you do what this, "englishman" did? undermining the concept of personal property? ownership? his property infringes on your property, and somehow: my, yours, our's doesn't compute... i'm ******* craving to **** my neighbour... because all i have left to lose is... frothing at the mouth.

at a supermarket:
within the confines
of a cashier:
- 'is this your typical
friday night?'
say it plain, chubby...
**** it: more cushion
for the pushin'...
   sunglasses at 6am?
a reply:
      - 'it could be'
  - 'if you were part of it'
            - 'what?'
i'd love to fiddle with excesses
of porky...

   migrant crisis?
  more like a ***** cricis...
    import black ****
given the white boy lay low...
it's not even funny,
i find it funny attempting
to whistle...
which i can't,
given that i found laughter...

just don't come between me
and mt "neighbour":
cos i'll **** the ******* ****!
and "he's" watching me?
sorry:
     i'll **** the ******* ****
****-face-****!

no, i will;
  i can't conceive retaining
the anglophone aspect of comedy
within the confines
of the monologue,
with a cabaret....
  
      i'll **** him...
next time we exfoliates
speaking to my mother,
and not... looking
         into my eyes...
  
   "englishman": spew!
   you! now! clean up this
*******!
*******,       english!
like you bred a people,
gesticulating with
a hand gesture...
new yankies...
    britain: home,
           of the the wankies.

p.s.

no... private property contra
private property
within this ****** vogue...
             i seriouslly will throw
a **** into his garden,
and say...
                not enough fox hunting,
d'uh!